


I Dreamed of You

by wingsextracrispy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, dubcon (past)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-04 14:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1781983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsextracrispy/pseuds/wingsextracrispy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Smith has a good job at Sandover Bridge and Iron.  He eats well, lives comfortably... so what if he hasn't had a date in months?  Dean's happy enough, and he's not looking to change that.  Then by some small chance, he meets Castiel, and Dean has to reevaluate just what he needs to be happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! This is my first attempt at writing a fic, so I apologize in advance for irregular postings, delays, or any issues in my writing. I'm always open to constructive criticism, so please feel free to comment if there are changes you'd be interested in seeing!

"Yes... absolutely, Mr. Hendrickson. Saturday morning sounds just fine. 9:00 AM tee time?" Dean Smith balanced the telephone between his ear and one hitched-up shoulder as he scratched a reminder onto a yellow sticky-note. "Great. I look forward to seeing you then, sir. Alright." Dean hung up the phone and ran a hand over his face. Buttering up local politicians was a necessary evil of his job as a senior executive at Sandover Bridge and Iron. Personally, Dean didn't care for the bribery and deceit his work often entailed to keep the company running, but he led a comfortable life, and wasn't looking to lose his job.

Dean dialed the number that would connect him to his secretary at the front desk. 

"Charlie?" He heard the sound of nails typing furiously away at a nearby keyboard.

"What can I do you for, Captain?" Dean chuckled. Charlie wasn't the typical personality an executive was expected to put at the front of their office, but she brightened up the job considerably. Not that he would ever admit it, but the Star Trek t-shirt she'd worn to her job interview had sealed the deal immediately. In different circumstances, he could easily see the two of them being friends outside of work. Friendships in the office weren't discouraged, exactly, but Dean was always cautious to mix his business and personal life, and he had heard all too often how the executives at this particular company got into trouble because the rumor mill had gotten too saucy about interpersonal relationships.

"Hey, I just secured a golf meeting with Mr. Hendrickson.... he's that local guy running for governor? Yeah, that's at 9:00 AM Satur... shit, that's tomorrow. What's my weekend looking like?"

"Hmmm..." He could tell she was scrolling through her elaborate self-designed spreadsheet. "After your golf meeting tomorrow you're free, but your Sunday is pretty packed..." He heard a few clicks of the mouse. "Yikes. Man, you're booked solid; Sunday morning you've got brunch with the board to discuss ..." Another click. "...cutbacks, I think. Hey, I'm safe, right?" Dean winced. The last round of cutbacks had been a nightmare, and he'd hoped they'd be able to put the next one off for a long while; apparently that wasn't going to be the case. 

"If I have anything to do with it, Charlie, you'll have a job with us until you figure out you can do way better than secretarial work." Dean heard Charlie laughing on the other side, clicking away like her life depended on it. "Wait... how did you know we're doing considering more cutbacks? I'm pretty sure that's not common knowledge." 

Charlie giggled conspiratorially. "Tell you what, Dean... how about we call that a fun story for another time? I promise I'm the only one who knows outside of the execs." Dean sighed. He was convinced that agreeing to an outside friendship would only cause trouble for both of them in the long run. It was a shame; he really was curious about how Charlie's been consistently getting her hands on secure information, but he was certain she wouldn't use any of it to cause problems. "Yeah... some other time, Charlie. How's the rest of Sunday?"

"After brunch, you're meeting with the head of IT at 2:00. I guess they've been having some issues with morale on 10th, and they want to start troubleshooting with you. I know, it's not in your job description to deal with IT, but I think the order's coming down the ladder from Zach. It's probably a good thing, I guess... if they're scaling back on their execs, throwing more shit your way indicates that you're likely gonna be secure here for a while."

Dean knew she was right, but Zachariah was gearing up to run the company right into the ground with all the extra work he was piling on to fewer and fewer people. Soon enough, the pressure was going to result in costly mistakes slipping through the cracks. "Alright, that's fine. And after that? Anything?" Please, god, say no...

"Yup." 

Shit.

"At 5:00 there's a cocktail party downtown that some of the other execs are throwing for this year's potential clients. Technically, that one's optional, but I wouldn't recommend skipping it unless you have something else really important going on."

"Yeah, okay. You're probably right about that. Hey, Charlie, is there any way you could set alarms to those times, and send me the adjusted schedule?"

A perky ding! on his computer alerted him to a new e-mail.

"Done and done, Boss! Anything else I can do for you today?"

Dean smiled. "No, Charlie. You've gone above and beyond today, as usual. Go ahead and take off; I think there's a Game of Thrones marathon starting on HBO in an hour... If you hurry home, you'll probably make it."

Charlie laughed easily. "You really get me, Dean! Try to relax some this weekend, if you can swing it."

Dean hung up, grinning. Even discussing something as stressful as his work schedule managed to brighten his mood, if he got to discuss it with someone as pleasant as Charlie. He almost envied her, to a certain extent. She held down a straightforward but important job that still allowed her to have a social life, if she wanted, outside of the office. Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd hung out with a friend or had a date... come to think about it, he couldn't recall even being interested in anyone in the recent past.

Dean glanced at the clock. 5:45. He hardly ever left before 7:00 or 8:00 lately, but if his weekend was going to be as hellish as he was expecting, he figured he could take off a couple of hours early. He shut down his computer, grabbed his coat, and headed out of the building feeling just a little bit lighter than he'd felt in a while.

An hour later, Dean entered his apartment building, juggling a leather briefcase and a plastic takeout container stuffed with a mixed green salad. Dean's bladder was fighting for his attention, and considering how his loft was situated on the very top floor, he made a swift turn into the sparkling lobby bathroom. 

Dean stopped.

Frozen at the row of sinks was a man who appeared to be in the process of swallowing down a tube of toothpaste. A man whose eyes - fuck, his eyes are blue - were currently locked with his own, and were filled with a mixture of panic and shame. Several moments passed before Dean realized that his mouth was hanging slightly open, and he snapped it shut with unnecessary force, shifting his gaze nervously anywhere but the other man's eyes. - shit, so fucking blue - He quickly took in the state of the man's clothes: wrinkled, coated with a fine layer of grime, and obviously well-worn, Dean had the sinking feeling that they may in fact be the only clothes he owned. A swift glance at the man's face - don't look at his eyes don't look at his eyes - had Dean concluding that this guy clearly hadn't had a shower in a while. Thick, dark brown hair twisted in a wild frenzy atop his head, some of it falling over his forehead and casting faint shadows across his face in addition to the generous dusting of stubble ghosting over his jaw. 

Dean realized with an uncomfortable lurch in his stomach that he'd been staring like a total creep at this guy for the past 10 seconds without saying a word. He awkwardly adjusted his hold on his belongings and cleared his throat, dragging his eyes back up to meet the other man's gaze. "Hey, uh... how you doin', man? You live here, or something?" - Fuck, so stupid, obviously he doesn't - The man finally, finally, blinked and looked back down at his hands, still clutching the toothpaste. He considered the tube for a long moment before sighing, screwing the cap back on, and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Dean was shifting his weight uncomfortably when the man swiveled around, eyes drawn frantically to the movement. His gaze flew back up to Dean's face before he suddenly spoke. "Listen," The man began in an earnest voice that somehow sounded like he'd been gargling lit cigarettes, "I don't want to cause any trouble." He briefly broke eye contact with Dean, nervously fingering the edge of the fake granite countertop. "I think we both know I don't live here," He continued quietly. "Please, if you'll just..." The man locked eyes with Dean again, held the contact for a long moment before exhaling audibly. "I'll be on my way." He shoved the toothpaste into the pocket of his cargo pants, scrubbed his hands once, twice, on a balled-up paper towel next to the sink, and turned to move past Dean towards the door.

At which point Dean realized he was the reason this guy was leaving; a guy - who's fucking gorgeous - who was so hungry he was eating toothpaste in a lobby bathroom, who was probably just trying to avoid a night outside, "again," his brain helpfully supplied. 

"Wait!" Dean heard himself say. - shit, now what now what - 

The man turned warily back to Dean, his hand hovering over the bathroom door handle.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable..." The poor guy tried again. "I promise, this will be a onetime incident. You won't see me again. At least..." His eyes swept quickly over the bathroom with reverence, like a room with a few sinks and toilets was the very definition of a heaven he couldn't have, before landing on Dean again. "...not here. There's no need to alert the authorities." He almost whispered the last part, sounding so strange and sad in his roughened voice. He turned away again and was just twisting the handle when Dean instinctively dropped his stuff on the floor and reached out to clamp a hand on the stranger's shoulder. 

Before Dean knew it, the man had somehow wriggled out from under his hand and slapped himself against the blue-tiled wall, eyes wild and chest heaving in an obvious panic.  
"Woah, man!" Dean took two generous steps backwards, hands held palm out in an attempted gesture of surrender. "My bad, my bad... I didn't mean to freak you out, I just..." - Damn it, you sound nuts! Now, deep breath, and coherent sentences. - "I don't want you to feel like you have to leave on my account. Honestly," Dean tried his trademark charm-your-way-into-their-pants grin, but could feel it faltering under the crushing adrenaline rush, so he tried for reassuring. "It makes no difference to me what you want to do in here. It's just a bathroom, I mean, nobody's gonna call the cops on you or anything." Dean searched the guy's face, and was relieved to find the raw fear gradually dissolving away. He smiled, lowered his hands and leaned in a bit before murmuring, "Between you and me, the security here is shit, anyway. I bet you they would turn a blind eye just to avoid the confrontation." The man didn't smile at that exactly, but the hard lines of his face did soften slightly, feathery lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes.  
"Thank you," he rumbled softly. His eyes cast downwards before widening in shock, and flicking up to Dean's with renewed concern. "Your food!"

"Wha - ?" Dean tore his eyes away to search around his feet, and sure enough, his salad had exploded on impact, spinach leaves and sliced radishes littering the floor. "Ah, shit, don't worry about that, man. It's fine, I've got plenty of other stuff upstairs." He cringed as soon as the words left his mouth. Clearly, here was someone who didn't get the luxury of a well-stocked salad bar on the regular, and Dean was practically rubbing it in his face. But what was he supposed to do? Punch the guy and tell him how valuable and expensive nutritious food is? 

Before his brain could catch up with his mouth, Dean distantly heard himself saying, "Tell you what. You help me get this cleaned up, and I'll make us both something to eat. I just live upstairs, and I was going that way after all..." Where had that come from? That wasn't part of the plan. Wait, plan? What exactly was he "planning" to do with this guy? Fuck, he's talking, pay attention, you idiot!

"... feel an obligation. You've already done me enough favors, and I wouldn't want to... I mean, I couldn't..."

"Hey." Dean held out his hand. The other guy looked at it, head tilted in apparent confusion. Dean steeled himself and continued. "Dean Smith. I work at Sandover Bridge and Iron, and I am currently 'attempting'" Dean curled his fingers into air quotes before sticking his hand out again, "a cleanse, or detox, or whatever... but I could be persuaded to break my fast for a really satisfying burger with a new friend." His hand still hung in mid-air, probably starting to get clammy, and a few seconds passed before the guy's face did that almost-happy, crinkly thing again. Before Dean could register, his hand was being gripped by a warm, strong hand - so close he's so close - and the guy's eyes were piercing as they searched his. 

"Castiel... I'm uh... currently between jobs. I have a large family, but I... haven't seen them in a long while." Dean felt a strange combination of anger and sympathy roiling deep in his belly. What kind of family just lets a member go homeless? Then again, why does he have such strong feelings about how this guy... Casteel? is treated by his family? Shit, he's still talking... quit zoning out!

"...haven't had a good burger in quite some time, and I am always amenable to new friends. Though, I must say this is the strangest way I've ever made such an acquaintance." The corners of Cas' mouth quirked in an almost-smile.

Dean grinned widely. "Good. So it's settled. You'll let me make us some actual food?" Cas nodded, only slightly hesitant, before dropping Dean's hand in favor of crouching low on the balls of his feet to begin sweeping the ruined salad into a neat pile. Together, they stuffed the now wilted greens back into the plastic container, which in turn ended up in the trash. Dean didn't miss the way the other man's face fell as the food made its way into the garbage, and attempted a quick deflection. "So," he said, pushing open the bathroom door, "Stairs or elevator?"


	2. Chapter 2

Dean didn't miss the way the mulleted guy (looking slightly out of place in a rumpled button-down and tie) at the front desk's eyebrows went up as the two of them filed out of the bathroom. Fuck, how long had they been in there? "Hey, Mr. Smith. Have a good day at work?" The guy - Ash, according to his dingy nameplate - flashed a knowing smile as he looked the two of them up and down. Clearly, he wasn't passing judgment on Cas' appearance, and Dean appreciated it. 

"Yeah, Ash; not too bad. Take it easy, man." Dean turned to lead Cas over to the row of elevators when he heard Ash's smug little voice floating out behind them.

"You too, Mr. Smith - you have a good night, now..." 

Dean tensed as he punched the button for the elevator. Cas stood beside him, brow furrowed in obvious confusion.

"Did that man mean something?"

Fuck.

"Hmmm? What was that?" Hurry up, elevator...

"The man at the front... Ash? He seemed to be alluding to something."

The elevator dinged as the doors slid open. Dean wracked his brain to find an innocent explanation for Ash's behavior, because somehow, this guy wasn't getting it. Coming up with nothing, Dean simply shrugged.

"Who knows, man. Ash is a, uh... a funny dude, I guess. Who knows what's going on in his head."

Castiel tilted his head, and he appeared to be thinking something over.

"Cas..." He murmured. 

"Wh... what?" Dean was getting jittery; he didn't like what this guy's voice was doing to him.

"Before, you called me 'Cas'."

"Huh. I, uh, I guess I did. That okay?"

Castiel, or Cas or whatever, seemed to consider the nickname for a few seconds, his brow scrunched again in concentration. "I think I like it. Nobody has ever given me a nickname before."

Dean exhaled quietly. God, interacting with this man was kind of exhausting. It didn't help that the guy's near-constant staring was distracting enough to keep him on edge. After what seemed like an eternity, the elevator doors finally slithered open. Dean quickly stepped out into the hallway, inhaling deeply. For some reason, he felt overheated and a bit lightheaded after sharing the elevator with Cas - maybe inviting the guy up to his place was kind of impulsive... hell, it was flat-out weird. But Cas didn't seem to think much of it, and Dean wasn't feeling up to explaining to him what exactly was strange about their... arrangement? Predicament? Shit, even Dean was at a loss.

"Glad to hear it, Cas. Now, what say I show you the digs? I might have to make it a quick tour, 'cause I gotta tell you, I am really feeling that burger right about now." Dean grinned over his shoulder as he dug through his pocket.

Cas nodded eagerly. "That sounds perfect, Dean. Thank you."

Dean fumbled over his keys. That's the first time the other man had said his name, and he really liked the way it sounded rolling around in that gravelly voice. - fuck, I'm in trouble. - He managed to eventually fit the key in the lock and push into the apartment.

"So, um... this is it, I guess. Home sweet home." Dean ran a hand through his hair as he glanced at the mess of papers and inventory forms littering the dining area table. "Sorry, it's a bit messy..."

"Dean." The smoky voice cut through his rambling. "Thank you for inviting me over. I understand that this probably isn't how you typically spend your Friday nights, taking in strays," Cas gestured to himself, sheepishly. "But I want you to know how much I appreciate your kindness. Please, don't let me impose; I would rather you tell me to leave than allow me to make you feel uncomfortable," he looked up, waiting for Dean's response. 

"No! No, it's not that... I wouldn't..." Dean took a moment to mentally draft his reply before continuing with a bit more conviction. "I'm going to make us dinner now, and I want you to feel comfortable here. You..." He paused. "You seem like an interesting guy, and I'd just kind of like to learn more about you, if you, uh, feel like talking?"

Cas shrugged, the most casual gesture he'd made thus far. "I'll talk if you want me to talk, Dean. Your home, your rules."

Dean didn't quite like what that implied; he didn't want Cas to feel like he owed him anything. If it meant he'd get to hear more about him, though, maybe it wasn't the worst tradeoff. Suddenly, his body decided to remind him that he'd never actually used the bathroom. "Uh, Cas? I'm just gonna hit the bathroom real quick, but feel free to just... look around, I guess. Living room," He waved towards the television set. "Bathroom and bedrooms," A gesture towards the hall. "And, well, you're standing in the kitchen. Just get comfortable, and I'll be back in a minute." Dean smiled reassuringly at Cas, the poor guy, who looked overwhelmed with the sudden barrage of options. Dean would have said more, but if he waited any longer, his bladder would undoubtedly revolt. It would not be pretty.

True to his word, Dean strode out of the bathroom not two minutes later, glancing this way and that to catch a glimpse of his mysterious guest. Peering around the wall, he spotted Cas in the living room, crouching slightly so as to remain at eye level with the family photograph Dean knew was perched on the cabinet. Dean stepped towards him slowly and with more weight than usual to announce his presence; Castiel, it seemed, had the nervousness of a spooked horse, and Dean did not want to aggravate that.

Nonetheless, Cas promptly straightened and turned to Dean at the sound of his footsteps. "My apologies," he murmured shamefacedly. "I didn't mean to pry, it's just..." he looked at Dean hesitantly, and Dean waved away his apology with a sound of indifference. Encouraged, Cas' expression warmed, and he gazed back down at the photograph with something akin to fondness. "You have a very beautiful family."

Dean snorted good-naturedly. "Yeah, they're gorgeous. Too bad they got stuck with me, eh?" Cas tilted his head in apparent puzzlement, until the silence grew awkward. Dean shook his head and huffed a laugh.

"So... how're you feelin' about dinner? 'Cause I gotta tell you, I'm about ready to eat an ox."

Castiel leveled Dean with a serious look. "I don't think you have that idiom correct, Dean." 

Dean just sighed dramatically. "Dinner, Cas. Yes or no."

The other man brightened visibly at the prospect of food, and nodded emphatically. "Yes. Yes, I could certainly eat."

"Great, okay. And what can I get you to drink?"

Cas looked stricken, as though this was an entirely new question that he had no idea how to answer. "Um... water?"

Dean choked back a laugh, "Okay, Cas, I could get you water, but it would be a shame to pass on a perfectly good beer." He reached into the fridge to pull out one for himself before holding up a second temptingly. 

"I..." he broke off, coughing lightly, before clearing his throat and continuing. "I can't say I've ever had the pleasure."

Dean gaped. "Never? You've never had a beer?"

A pleasant blush stained his guest's cheeks as he looked away and shook his head.

A wide grin split across Dean's face. "Well, then, no time like the present, eh, Cas?" He popped the caps off and slid one of the bottles across the counter.

Castiel looked suspicious. He picked the bottle up gingerly between his thumb and forefinger and took an almost delicate sniff at the lip. His nose wrinkled slightly. Hesitantly, he tilted the green glass until it nestled softly between pink, plush lips, and gulped down a mouthful of the cool amber liquid. 

Dean had to make a concerted effort to not stare at the guy's mouth as he licked the stray beads of moisture from his lips, or at the long, pale column of his throat as he lifted the bottle for another sip. And he definitely didn't clamp down a low whine when Cas peeked his tongue out at the rim of the bottle to catch a lazily rolling drop of condensation.  
Dean swallowed audibly before speaking again, "Not so bad, huh?" Crap, my voice sounds rough.

Cas looked up, meeting Dean's eyes again, before glancing back down at the drink in his hand curiously. "This is... surprisingly refreshing. Thank you, Dean."

"Yeah, yeah, no problem, man. I'm glad you like it." Dean looked down to where his knuckles had turned white from clutching the edge of the countertop. Releasing his death grip on the granite, Dean turned back to the fridge and began pulling out the fixings for burgers.

Half an hour later, Dean set a plate in front of each of them. Castiel, now on his second beer, seemed to have no reservations about the hamburger. Eagerly, he bit into the mess of meat, cheese, tomatoes, and onions, groaning softly at the flavor. Dean shifted in his seat, attempting to turn his attention away from his increasingly uncomfortable dress pants and towards his own burger instead. Dean had to admit, if there was one thing he could do well, it was cook a burger, and before long, he was moaning around bites of it himself.  
When Cas finally managed to take a breath around his food, he glanced at Dean, his face almost prayerful. "Dean, this is..." He stopped to swallow another mouthful before trying again. 'These make me... very happy."

And that shouldn't have filled Dean with such a bright, fuzzy bubble of pride. He knew his burgers were good. He buttered and toasted the buns, and the meat was moistened with bacon fat; they were guaranteed to make you forget every other fast-food sandwich you've ever had. In spite of this, though, he warmed internally at the thought that he was able to give this interesting guy a good meal and some conversation.

"I'm glad. And thanks for joining me; man, if I hadn't met you, I'd be stuck eating that nasty rabbit food instead." Dean rolled his eyes exaggeratedly before popping the last juicy morsel into his mouth and exhaling happily. Not one to let the silence grow stale, though, Dean soon forced himself out of his chair. "You all done?" He reached across the table for the now-empty plate. 

Cas did that almost-smile again. "Yes, thank you. May I help you clean up?" He pushed himself away from the table. 

Dean waved him off, piling the dishes into the sink. "Nah, don't worry about it. I got this." Castiel settled back into the chair with an air of contented relaxation, which lasted only a moment before his eyes widened in apparent realization. "Oh. Oh! I'm so sorry; I've overstayed my welcome." He scrambled up again, tilting over slightly before throwing a hand onto the back of his chair for balance.

"Not used to alcohol," Dean thought.

"Whoa, man, not at all! That's not what I..."

A loud crack of thunder splitting through the air made them both jump. Dean peered out the window and noticed for the first time the water pounding at the glass. How long had that been going on?

He glanced back at Castiel, who was now haphazardly pushing his arms into a ratty maroon hoodie. "Alright, Cas," Dean began, watching as he dazedly struggled with the zipper. "I'm sorry, but there's no way I'm letting you out there tonight." The man froze, eyes locked on Dean. Confusion flashed across his face before he shifted, lowering his hands and staring at the ground, murmuring, "I didn't realize this was... uh... a transaction."

Oh.

Oh, fuck, no.

Communicating with this guy felt like one painful misunderstanding after the other.

"Shit, Cas! God, no, that's... that's not what I meant - Christ! I didn't invite you up for... well, that, and I mean, I'm not judging or anything. It's just..." Dean exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just, hear me out for one minute." He chanced a glance back at the guy. He was still standing tight with tension, but the raw fear seemed to have bled out some. Good sign.

"What I meant was, I don't want to let you leave, knowing you're just gonna be ending up on the street again. Because, A., it is fucking pouring rain out there, man. I mean, I'm talking monsoon-level flooding. Okay?" Castiel nodded, frowning. Dean took that as motivation to continue. "Point B., you are as of right now kind of drunk, I think, and you shouldn't be out in a city, alone, and tipsy with nobody to watch your back. Right?" He nodded again, his head tilted as he tried to figure out where this was going. "And knowing now what you... what you've had to do or had, um... done to you? I'm not comfortable sending you out where people are gonna take advantage of you." Cas squinted, trying to piece together what Dean was saying.

Dean sighed before taking a careful couple of steps forward and resting one hand lightly on the man's shoulder. "What I'm saying, Cas, is would you please not make me worry about you out there, and just stay in the guest room tonight?"

Castiel cocked his head even further, eyes slightly glassy from the alcohol. "I... you would let me stay here overnight?"

Dean smiled cautiously. "Yeah, Cas, that's what I'm saying. No strings attached, no conditions." He iterated the last bit with conviction. 

For a long moment the man just stared at him, uncomprehending, before asking quietly, "Then could... could I maybe use your shower? I wouldn't want to dirty your bedclothes." 

Dean's smile grew as he realized that his guest had accepted his offer, and clapped Castiel's shoulder heartily, trying to ignore the way the man flinched under the touch. How long has that hand been there? Shit. Don't be a creep. Don't be a creep.

"Sure, Cas! Thanks for agreeing to this, man, I tell ya, I wouldn't have been able to sleep tonight if I knew you were somewhere out there in the rain."

Castiel smiled hesitantly, and Dean didn't give him a chance to argue the point, ushering him over to the bathroom and practically shoving the guy in before reaching into the hallway closet. Grinning stupidly, Dean shoved a fluffy towel and unused razor still in the packaging into his guest's arms. "I'm assuming you can figure out the temperature controls on your own, but, uh, feel free to help yourself to anything in there. Soap, shampoo, shaving cream, whatever. Oh!" Dean dove back into the closet, rummaging in a plastic bin of toiletries before rushing back at Cas with an orange toothbrush wrapped in plastic. "That, you can keep. All yours. Consider it a gift from one friend to another." 

Castiel stood stock still, staring down at the bundle in his arms before gazing back up at Dean, his eyes warmer than Dean had seen them all night. Dean didn't want any more gratitude from him; the guy had already done a number on his emotions tonight. "And your pants," his brain added, smugly. Dean shook the thought off before smiling at the other man and stepping back. "Let me know if you need anything. I'll just be... "He gestured vaguely. "guest room." Then he peeled away before the guy could think about thanking him again.

Twenty minutes later, and Dean was sprawled across the guest bed, attempting to pin down three corners of the pale green fitted sheet as he tried to wrestle the last one under the mattress. A low-pitched voice rumbled down the hallway, startling him from his efforts. "Dean?" It was questioning, and Dean cursed as two more corners of the sheet sprung back from their previous positions. "Yeah, Cas?"

He stepped out into the hallway to see the guy peeking out of the bathroom. As he stepped closer, he tried to keep his eyes focused on those insanely blue eyes, but it was difficult. Cas' torso was clearly visible from where he was standing by the door, unbelievably sharp hipbones jutting out over the top of the loosely-slung towel, which was hanging precariously low. Dean's mouth began to water.

Shit, how long have I been staring?

Dean wrenched his eyes back up to Castiel's face, and was pleasantly surprised to find how much better he looked with just a shower and a shave; he looked a few years younger, at least, and the lines in his face now appeared to be from laughing instead of frowning. Dean felt another smile creep across his face, even as Cas shifted self-consciously and hitched the towel up to safer territory. Dean started as he realized he hadn’t actually said anything yet.

"Cas? You okay, or... can I get you something?"

The man's eyes flickered with badly concealed shame. "I should have realized before, but it seems like putting my clothes back on would defeat the purpose of my getting clean..."  
Dean's brain short-circuited.

"And I hate to put you out even more, but..." He gnawed on his lower lip. Why did Dean find that so endearing? "Is there any way you could lend me something to wear? Something you don't care about much?"

Oh. Of course. Dean tried to get the mental cogs away from the mantra of skinskinthosefuckingshouldersjesuschristfuckallthatSKIN and back to the present. "Ye...Yeah, Cas. I'll go grab you something." 

Dean rifled through his drawers, trying to ground himself in reality, because there was no fucking way this wasn’t all some twisted dream. Clenching a tee-shirt and a pair of boxers in one hand, he pointed to himself in the mirror with the other. "Don't be a creep." He whispered, "Just do something for somebody else for a fucking change. Make one fucking friend without scaring him away, for the love of Christ..." Feeling only marginally steadier, Dean met his guest back at the bathroom door to hand off the clothes, this time making a point of politely turning away in a show of privacy. "I'll just be finishing up the guest room, Cas, feel free to meet me down there whenever you're all set, and I can, uh, throw your other clothes in the wash." A couple minutes later, Dean grunted in triumph as the temperamental sheet finally popped into place.

“Um…” Dean squirmed around on the bed, sitting up to find himself locked in that stupid staring again. He felt his cheeks burn as he realized what he must look like; sprawled across the bed, grunting and sweaty…

“Forgive me, but…” Dean glanced down to the man's hands to find them plucking nervously at the faded Led Zeppelin T-shirt. “This shirt is very comfortable. It – it seems like something you must have worn a lot. Are you sure this isn’t an imposition? I mean, obviously I’m intruding, but - ”

“Cas.” Dean scooted onto the edge of the bed, and patted the mattress in invitation. The other guy tensed briefly, before seemingly remembering that Dean hadn’t expressed any interest in his services (Dean cringed at the word), and trod lightly to sit beside Dean. When he finally raised that mournful gaze back up to Dean’s face, Dean continued, “Now, if I had to guess, I’d say you probably haven’t been comfortable in a while. Jesus, I’ve done the bare minimum of human decency, and you’re either looking at me like I hung the fucking moon, or I’m going to beat the shit out of you. You’re only an imposition if you don’t relax, ‘cause then I can’t relax. Capische?”

The corners of Castiel's mouth pulled into a shy smile, and as he nodded, Dean was pleased to note the softened expression his eyes had taken. Dean grinned widely in return, before forcing himself off the bed. “That’s better, Cas. And honestly, it’s been way too long since I’ve hung out with – hell, anybody. It’s just like a sleepover!” Dean chuckled as he pulled a pile of blankets and pillows from the closet.

“So are you… sleeping in here, then?” For the first time that night, he didn’t sound scared or wounded, merely curious. “Nah, man.” Dean plopped the bundle on the edge of the bed. “Not that legit. But I’ll be just down the hall if you need anything. And you have free reign of the place; bathroom, kitchen, living room, whatever. But you should try to get some sleep before those bags become permanent.” Dean smiled as Cas inquisitively brushed the bruise-like skin beneath his eyes. “Yes, I daresay you’re right. Thank you, Dean. For everything.”

Dean waved it off. “No worries, man. I’m just gonna…” He stooped to gather the pile of old clothes, which, despite their filthy state, were folded as neatly as could be. “…throw these in the wash, and then – head to bed, I guess. You need anything else?” 

Castiel shook his head, and began ritualistically arranging the blankets on the bed. “I don’t think so… but Dean? Could I keep the door open?”

Dean saluted “Aye aye, captain.” Cas smiled. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, Cas.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry in advance for the delay in the next chapter; I'm currently working full time, and evenings are my only time for writing. Enjoy the new part; comments/criticisms appreciated!

Dean woke up to a pair of blue eyes blinking at him in his darkened room.

“Holy shit, Cas!” Dean jerked upright, panting and heart pounding. “You freaking… scared me, man!”

“I apologize, Dean.”

Dean stretched across the bed to switch on the lamp, bathing the room in soft, golden light, before huffing and leaning back against the headboard. “So, what’s up?” He asked tiredly, swiping a shaking hand down his face.

“You were having a nightmare, Dean.” Dean turned to find the other man, true to form, tilting his head and frowning. “Don’t you remember?”

Huh. That would explain the shaking. Dean wracked his brain, trying to grasp at the memory of the dream, but it was quickly slipping away, and he was left with almost nothing. “I remember it happening - but no details… shit, I woke you up, didn’t I?”

“You were screaming,” his guest said matter-of-factly.

Dean sighed, “Yeah, I do that, so I’ve been told. Sorry ‘bout that, man. You here long?”

He shrugged, “I woke up half an hour ago, but you only just started up a few minutes ago. Whatever you were dreaming about, it didn’t sound too nice.”

“Couldn’t have been, with the way I must’ve been carrying on.” Dean chuckled, then started. “Wait … you’ve been up for half an hour? What time is it?” It was still pitch black outside, and Dean fumbled for the watch on his bedside table. 

“4:45 in the morning.” He sounded embarrassed.

Dean abandoned the watch, and leveled the other man with an incredulous stare. “Jesus, Cas, what the fuck were you doing up? Didn’t you sleep okay?”

Castiel nodded emphatically. “I slept wonderfully, Dean. I’m just…” he shifted uncomfortably, and Dean registered that the guy was sitting on his bed and shit, he really needed to calm the fuck down – Cas was still talking. “I’m not used to the luxury of sleeping the whole night through in relative comfort and safety. I guess I forgot where I was for a minute or two, and then… well, I was awake anyway, so I was just going to clean up and - ” he trailed off and cast a worried glance to Dean.

It took his sleep-addled brain a few seconds to catch up, but Dean managed to piece it together. “You were gonna sneak out, Cas?”

Sighing, and now paying very close attention to the dimpled texture of Dean’s blanket, he murmured, “Well, I was going to, but…”

“But then I started screaming, and you didn’t want to leave without peeking in and making sure I wasn’t dying, right?” Dean grinned as the guy's cheeks colored in the dim light.

“Something like that.” he grumbled.

“Well, since we’re both up now…” Dean rubbed his hands together. “Whaddya say I whip up something to eat? It’s one of my rules: Stay the night, stay for breakfast.” The other man raised an eyebrow, and Dean chuckled. “What can I say? I’m a gentleman. Come on, get the lead out!” Dean yanked back the covers and planted his feet on the floor, groaning softly as he felt his back stretch and crack out of sleep mode. He stood up and turned to face Cas, whose eyes, he was pleased to note, were lit with fascination as he raked his gaze up Dean’s chest. Dean smirked triumphantly and turned away before they could start another staring contest, and tugged a T-shirt over his head. “So.” He swiveled around and leveled the other man with a meaningful look. “Coffee?”

Castiel grimaced. "If I must."

Dean chuckled. "Not a fan, huh?" He gently pulled the other man up from his bed, and began leading him back to the darkened kitchen. Dean could hear the soft tread of the man behind him as he followed.

"Not particularly. I suppose I haven't acquired the taste." Cas' voice rumbled behind him, and Dean forcefully suppressed a shiver. Not even fully awake yet, and this guy was already making him squirm. Dean forced himself to speak, before his imagination decided to get creative again. "Well, uh... what sort of coffee have you had?" Lame, lame, lame.

There was a contemplative pause as the other man considered this. He shrugged and answered truthfully, "Depends what kind of day it's been."

Dean smiled as he measured out the scoops of ground beans. "Different coffees for different days? Wanna elaborate?" In his head, he was already constructing a flow chart of Castiel's coffee-drinking habits. He's sleepy? Regular with a shot of espresso. Happy? Cappuccino. Miserable? Something to perk him up, like a sugary chocolate chip frappuccino with extra whipped cream. Or something like that.

"If it hasn't been a lucky day, it's whatever they have at the shelter for supper. If it has been one, it's Dunkin Donuts."

Dean's smile wavered. In the middle of everything, he'd somehow managed to forget one very important detail regarding Castiel's living situation. After he leaves Dean's apartment, he doesn't have one. Again. And Dean didn't even want to think about what constituted a "lucky day." He turned on the coffee maker and turned to warily face the other man, mentally drafting an apology. He didn't seem to mind Dean's blunder, though, if his open, honest expression was anything to go by. He wasn't trying to make Dean feel like an entitled piece of shit or anything, Dean knew that, but he couldn't help feeling like an idiot anyway.

"Oh, yeah. Um... maybe you just haven't had the right introduction to coffee. You'll see," He smiled gently. "Mine is a work of art. Are you open to having your taste buds blown?"

He cringed the second the words left his mouth. Blowing his taste buds? That sounded like an incredibly creepy attempt at a pickup line. Smooth, Dean. Very smooth.

Castiel looked confused for a moment, before breaking into surprised laughter while Dean stammered, "Hey, come on man, gimme a break... That's not what I - it's fucking early is what it is..."

The other man trailed off into a chuckle, and quirked an eyebrow. "Sure, Dean." He smirked. "I could be open to having my taste buds blown."

"Yeah, yeah, very funny." Dean grumbled, waving him off and turning around to check on the coffee. The two of them stood in companionable silence for a while, both gazing out at the rain tinkling against the windowpanes. Eventually, though, Dean had to acknowledge that the machine had stopped its languid dripping, and without breaking the quiet, began searching for mugs. He could feel Castiel's eyes on him as he prepared the drinks, one black, one topped off with a healthy splash of cream and, after a second's consideration, a small dose of sugar. Studiously avoiding eye contact, he passed the cream-and-sugar mug across the counter, and took a long sip of his own. 

"Mmmm." The sound of it snapped Dean out of the silence, and he looked up to see Cas, eyes closed and inhaling deeply from the steam swirling out of his drink. Without opening his eyes, he lifted the mug to his lips and deliberately swallowed down a mouthful. Dean watched him, frozen in place, as a look of utter contentment came upon the other man's face. Castiel's eyes suddenly fluttered open and locked with Dean's. He leaned in slightly, hands wrapping possessively around the warm beverage, and whispered, "I think," Dean could taste his breath, he was so close - "That my taste buds have officially been blown." Dean gaped like a fish as Cas grinned cheekily and pulled away, bringing the mug to his lips for another taste.

"You - " Dean sputtered helplessly before deciding on, "Mr. Funny Man, all of a sudden..."

"Morning person, aren't we?" Castiel smirked.

"Yeah, well. I've just changed your entire perspective on coffee with one sip, so let's just call us square, alright?" The other man nodded in concession, and turned back to watch the rain, cradling the mug to his chest. Dean took the opportunity to unabashedly drink in the sight of Castiel, his eyes dragging over the sharp lines of his profile and the strong curves of muscle beneath his T-shirt. He was vaguely aware that he was straight-up ogling the guy, but as long as he hadn't noticed...

Dean dropped his gaze and hastily gulped down his drink when Cas turned back to him. "So," he murmured. "I've certainly imposed long enough. I suppose I should head out." He gently set the mug back on the countertop, smiling slightly as his fingertips traced the angels painted on the ceramic. Dean was silent. Castiel's hand stilled, and with a sigh he eased forward so that his elbows rested on the granite. He peered up at Dean through his eyelashes and whispered, "Wouldn't you agree?"

Dean's mouth was dry; for the mug he'd just emptied, he felt for all the world like he'd been choking down cotton balls. He leaned forward slowly so that he mirrored the other man and, without breaking eye contact, said, "It's still raining, Cas." A smile split across his face as he straightened and gestured at the window. "And it's not even light out yet. Not to mention," He made a show of looking despondently guilty. "I may have fallen asleep before I got around to throwing your clothes in the dryer. Bearing that in mind," He pushed himself away from the counter and moved towards the laundry. "I'm sorry to say you're stuck with me for at least another hour. So you just might have to suffer through breakfast." He shrugged, and turned to start unloading the washing machine. Castiel was quiet as he methodically filled the dryer and placed a couple of laundry sheets on top of the small pile, but Dean caught a glimpse of him hiding a smile behind blue and yellow painted angels.

"The cycle's started," Dean chirped happily before drawing an X across his chest and holding his hand up in salute, "Scout's honor, swear to die, and all that."

"Yeah, well," Cas' eyes crinkled. "I'm not buying a word until you've got a hand on a bible."

Dean grinned and made his way to the fridge. "Unfortunately," He pulled out eggs, buttermilk, and bacon before moving to the cabinets. "I don't actually own a bible. I promise, though, it'll be a definite fixture before we hang out next." 

"Hang out?" Dean turned to see Cas, brow furrowed, and looking almost... angry?

"Um," Dean was at a loss.

"Is that what you think we're doing?" He straightened to full height and walked around the island.

Not angry, Dean determined. Castiel's expression was saturated with disbelief.

"Answer me, Dean." Cas shifted closer until he was decidedly invading Dean's space. "I've enjoyed this while it lasted, but I'm not in the mood to play games."

"I'm not - I'm not playing any games..."

"Yes you are! You must be!" His voice was a desperate growl, and one hand anxiously clutched a fistful of dark hair. His gaze flitted nervously at level with Dean's chin before painfully dragging up to his eyes. "You know what I do, Dean, how I live." His voice was softer now, his eyes searching. "Last night, I was homeless. When I leave here, I'll be homeless again. You pretending like we're - " He gesticulated wildly. "Friends, or colleagues, or whatever you want to call it? It's not going to make it any better when I leave. Because I have to leave, Dean. Sooner or later, and then you can pat yourself on the back and call this the good deed of a lifetime."

Dean's heart was pounding in his chest, and he had to forcefully squash down the urge to wrap Castiel in a warm blanket and whisper assurances in his ear.

"Cas," He started hesitantly. "You can't think that that's what this is about. You're not here so I can fucking pat myself on the back or sleep easy or anything like that. It's not."

Castiel look wary. "So what am I here for, then? Not that I'm not grateful, I just..." He sighed. "I need to know what you want from me. Because you made it very clear last night that this wasn't to satisfy anything sexual. I honestly can't think of any other way I would enhance your life."

"Honestly?" Dean threw his hands up. "I'm lonely. And kind of miserable, generally. I know I don't have any cause to be unhappy, and it probably makes me a dick for saying it, 'cause I have a job and a place, and that should fuckin' be enough, you know?" He chanced a glance at Cas, who seemed to have simmered down to looking merely curious. "And this hasn't been terrible, has it? I mean... I like talking to you, but I understand if you just wanna, um, high-tail it out of here. Not exactly a normal situation, is it?" He laughed self-consciously.

"No." Castiel shook his head slowly. "Definitely not a normal situation."

Dean's shoulders slumped. "I get it." He rubbed a hand across his eyes. "As soon as your clothes are done, you can leave whenever you want. I'm so... shit, so sorry if you felt obligated to be here, that wasn't what I intended. Doesn't make it okay, but..."

"But it hasn't been terrible."

Dean's eyes shot up. Cas was biting his lower lip contemplatively. "Yeah?" Dean asked.

Castiel nodded. "And I think," he began, "That I'd like to help with breakfast. If you'd let me." He tacked on impulsively.

Dean answering smile reached all the way up to his eyes. "I think we can manage that, but only if you take care to keep my clothes clean." He nodded at the sleep-rumpled Zeppelin T-shirt, which the other man smoothed down delicately. "I - I can try..."

"No worries, Cas." Dean laughed under his breath. "I know just what to do."

Soon enough, Dean had Castiel scrambling eggs and wearing an old, wrinkled apron with the words "KISS THE COOK" emblazoned boldly across the chest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, yay! I'm sorry it took so long; I'm hoping to get on a weekly schedule (at least one chapter each week), so hopefully that'll keep me on track. In apology for the delay, have some open communication and domestic fluff.

"Showoff." Castiel grumbled under his breath as Dean sent a pancake flying into the air, only to catch it neatly in a steaming buttered pan. "I don't know what you're talking about," Dean grinned as he slid the cake onto the top of a rapidly growing pile.

"Yeah, sure you don't." Cas carefully spooned heaps of cheesy eggs into a bowl. "Everybody can flip pancakes like a television chef. No skill in that whatsoever."

"Okay, cynic." Dean whirled on him, hand on his hip and smirking challengingly. "Time for a cooking lesson. Five minutes, just give me five minutes," he held up a hand and waggled his fingers. "And we'll have you flipping pancakes like a pro."

Cas looked doubtful, but set down the dish of eggs and stepped up to the stove. "Well?"

Dean shifted so that he could reach the pan, where another circle of batter was beginning to bubble. "Okay," he started. "So once the edges have started to dry a bit, like that, see?" The other man nodded. "That means it's time to flip. If you wait much longer than that, you end up with a charcoal briquette."

Castiel peeked over his shoulder where Dean was hovering, and laughed. "Speaking from experience, I take it?"

"Me? No way. I'm an A+ chef, and you know it, smartass." Dean snuck a pinch on his side, and Cas yelped before dissolving into giggles. 

"Ye-yeah... Chef B-... mmph... Chef Boyardee, maybe..." Dean finally let up on the tickling, and couldn't help the snort that snuck out when the other man bent over, wheezing. "Sorry, Cas, couldn't resist." He snickered, once the other man had regained some control. "I can tell," Castiel rasped, clutching his chest and inhaling deeply. "You reek of remorse." After a few moments, he stood up fully, recovered enough to resume his post at the stovetop. "So are we going to flip pancakes or what?"

Dean held up his hands in surrender, and shifted so that he stood behind Castiel. He inhaled sharply, suddenly drunk on the invisible tension strung between their bodies, so close as to start an electric line of heat singeing down his spine. He clenched his hands quickly, digging his nails into the soft flesh of his palms in an attempt to distract himself from the man in front of him. No such luck. Baptism by fire it is, then. 

"I'm gonna have to play puppeteer a bit," he mumbled, and stretched his arms out to frame Cas' and lightly grasp his wrists. He felt the body in front of him tense, and take a shaky breath. Dean hastily put some extra space between them and released one of Cas' hands, only ghosting over the one nearest the handle of the pan. "Oh, uh, sorry. Um, so to flip it, you just have to push it forward," Dean guided the hand beneath his. "And then quickly flick it up, pull the pan back and down to catch it." He helped Cas repeat the motion, this time succeeding in putting air between the pancake and the roughened cast iron. It tumbled back down, and cracked into two blackened chunks upon impact. The two just stared at the pan for a long second, before Dean busted into laughter, leaning away from the other man to grasp the countertop for support. "I guess," he got out between chuckles, "That... shit," Deep breath. "Five minutes is just a tad too long."

Cas swiveled around to face him, and Dean's cackling ceased immediately upon realizing that two of them were practically nose to nose. They simply looked at each other for a second, or a minute, or an hour, Dean wasn't actually sure. It was Castiel broke the connection, "Well, maybe it wouldn't have been a problem, if somebody hadn't started a tickle fight when our attention should have been on the pancake." He reached behind himself for the pan and, gazing down upon it, shook his head mournfully. "I'm so sorry, pancake. You deserved better." A long-suffering sigh fell from his lips, and then he turned back to Dean. "We should have a burial."

Dean just stared in amused disbelief, unable to come up with a response. He settled instead on reaching for the dishes of food and waving them in front of Castiel's face. "Maybe after breakfast, huh? Eulogies make me hungry." Soon enough, they both made their way to the kitchen table, heavily laden with pancakes, bacon, eggs, and fresh mugs of coffee. Cas had asked to try his second mug black, but one grimace had Dean shaking his head in mock disapproval as he swirled cream and sugar into the drink. 

Cas' eating habits differed from the night before. He seemed less ravenous, though Dean had the sense that he was savoring it because he expected it to have to last him a long time. He couldn't articulate why exactly he cared, but Cas made sure to ask anyway.

"So, you know we still have to talk." Castiel said nonchalantly, dragging a square of pancake through a puddle of syrup. "Yeah," Dean sighed. "Yeah, I know." The man across from him chewed thoughtfully, before setting down his fork and clasping his hands together on the table. "Maybe it would be easiest if I came up with questions for you to answer?"

Dean gestured for him to continue, crunching on a strip of bacon while he awaited interrogation. Cas bit his lip, staring down at his hands as he decided how to begin. "Okay, let's start easy. Are you often this hospitable to homeless strangers?"

"You mean do I habitually invite strangers up to my apartment, cook them dinner, have them stay over without pursuing, um... yeah, and insist they stay for breakfast?"

Castiel tilted his head. "Yes, if you'd like to outline all the specifics."

"Uh, well, in that case. No? No, not a typical move on my part." Dean scratched the back of his neck, which he could feel heating up. He already knew what was coming next.

"So we've established that this is atypical for you, but you invited me up because you were lonely. Fair enough. But I do have to wonder why you didn't want to socialize with people you actually know... established friends or colleagues would assumedly take precedence over someone you spontaneously met in the lobby bathroom."

Dean pushed bits of food around his plate, avoiding eye contact. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders. "I hear what you're saying, man, I really do. And I wish I had an answer for you, but to tell the truth... I don't have a clue why I invited you up here. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're here, fucking ecstatic - it was just something about you that, uh..." Castiel had his chin cradled in his hand, and was listening to Dean speak with rapt interest. Too much interest for Dean's comfort. He stalled by shoveling a mammoth bite of eggs into his mouth, and held up one finger to request a moment. There was a twitch to Castiel's eyebrow that suggested he knew exactly what Dean was doing, but he indulged him. "Well," Dean got out between swallows. "You've got that je ne sais quoi, I don't know. You made me want to just, um, do something nice for once."

Cas snorted. Huh. Okay, not the expected response.

"What?" Dean asked defensively, his cheeks burning. "I'm trying my best to give you an answer, and that's what I get?"

"No, it's - it's not that, just..." He giggled. "'je ne sais quoi?' So fancy, so worldly, Mr. Smith. But I can speak French too. Wanna hear it?"

Dean saw the conversation segue and took it gratefully. "Damn straight I do."

"Okay." Cas seemed to have trouble keeping the smile off his face when he rumbled, "Voulez vous coucher avec moi?"

Dean scoffed, but he could feel his heart thump a bit more insistently against his ribs. "Lady Marmalade? I'm disappointed, Cas, I thought you'd have better taste than that." Good, good. Focus on the music, not the fact that he technically just asked you to go to bed with him. 

The man folded his hands across his chest defiantly. "It's catchy, and you know it. What do you listen to? Let me guess, classical orchestral score?" 

Dean clutched a hand to his heart. "Am I really that boring? You wound me deeply."

Castiel settled back in his chair and shrugged noncommittally, but there was a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Dean shoved himself away from the table. "Fine, you wanna play it that way? I'll show you what good music sounds like." He disappeared into his bedroom for a minute, Cas could hear him rustling around in the closet, before reappearing with a large, tattered cardboard box. "Do I even want to know what's in there?" He teased. Dean just rolled his eyes as he set the box on the living room floor. He rifled through it, seemingly considering a variety of objects before his eyes brightened, and he pulled something out. He moved to the chest of drawers that his family photos rested on, and from the bottom drawer hefted an unwieldy box-shaped thing.

Castiel didn't rush him, instead lowering his arms to rest on his stomach while he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He could distantly hear the sound of Dean fussing over something, but it wasn't until soft strains of music suddenly swelled through the air that he re-opened his eyes. He looked across the room to see Dean, sitting cross-legged on the floor, resting his face in his hands, and an overwhelming wave of fondness rushed through him. He didn't move, didn't want to break whatever spell the song seemed to have cast over Dean. Whatever it was, it seemed to melt away all the tension from his shoulders, and he looked inexplicably young in that moment. Castiel waited until the song had ended, and Dean regained his prior sense of consciousness, before easing himself up from his chair. "Oof." His hand went to his stomach, fuller than he'd realized. "I think I understand the point of that stupid salad cleanse now." 

Dean blinked up at him happily, and gestured to what Cas now recognized as a record player. "That was one of my favorite songs when I was a kid. I don't know why... it always just felt like home." 

"Did your mother or father play it for you often?" Castiel sat himself down on the rug beside Dean, who frowned.

"No, they didn't. Doesn't really make sense, I guess, huh?"

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to pry."

"Nah, man. No worries." Dean flopped onto his back, one hand behind his head. 

"If I may ask," Cas leaned back until he was settled on his side, an arm propped up to support his head as he turned to face the other man. "What song was that? It was very nice."

Dean stared at him for a moment, incredulity plain on his face. "Seriously? Don't you know 'Hey Jude'? It's only one of The Beatles' most famous songs, dude!"

Cas raised his hands in surrender. "I simply didn't listen to them growing up. I was stuck with whatever my brother put on the radio."

"Let me guess, he had shitty taste?"

"You could say that." He stretched out, unconsciously mimicking Dean's position. The two of them lay on the carpet for a several minutes, drifting in the sounds of the record. Cas didn't notice when Dean shifted to face him until he spoke. "Hey,"

He turned his head. "Yeah?"

There was a long, tense moment. Neither one spoke.

Cas' breath hitched as he saw one of Dean's hands move up towards his face; his eyes fluttered between it and that face, so close, trying desperately to read the intent in his expression. The hand halted briefly, and across Dean's face flickered a host of emotions. He moved again, and Cas flinched uncontrollably when he made contact with the top of his head. Dean cleared his throat self-consciously, and ruffled the dark hair before pulling away to a safe distance. 

Castiel stared at him, uncomprehending. "Dean?"

The man fidgeted before hauling himself back up to a sitting position. "You had flour in your hair."

"Oh." Cas ran his fingers along his scalp. "Thank you?"

Dean nodded. His mouth was a thin line, but his eyes were warm, apologetic. He doesn't want to frighten me, Castiel thought. He's not like the others. He doesn't want to hurt you, not like them. Cas swung himself up to loop his arms loosely around his knees. "Thank you." He repeats, catching Dean's eye and holding his gaze. He hopes Dean can see that this is for everything. For taking him in out of the rain, feeding him, not treating him like a charity case, and respecting his boundaries. It's far more than he could say for anyone else.

In an unexpected burst of emotion, Cas surged forward and wrapped his arms around Dean. It took a moment, but strong arms soon inched up to wrap around his back, holding him close as they breathed together. 

They broke apart reluctantly when a buzzing noise sounded from the dryer. "That'll be your clothes," Dean smiled sadly. He strode to the machine, body still tingling from the phantom press of Cas' arms. The laundry distracts him, if only briefly. He sorts through the pile of warm fabric, alternating between folding and hanging garments, until he's left staring at the clean, white finish of the machine. 

"Could... could I grab that?" Dean turned to see Cas leaning against the doorframe. "Hmm?" He looked down at the neat stack of clothes. "Which one?"

"The - this one." Their hands collide as they both reach for the sweatshirt. "Sorry." Castiel's cheeks flooded with color. "I was cold." Dean watches him shove his arms through the sleeves before jamming his hands in his armpits. "Jesus, Cas, go bundle up on the couch if you're that freezing." The other man ducked his head in agreement before turning back to the living room. No need to tell Dean that he felt like he'd been dunked in a bucket of ice as soon as his arms had pulled away. None whatsoever.

He padded over to the chest of drawers, and quickly found a thick, woolen blanket. He wrapped himself up in it, and, quickly warming up, sank into the corner of the couch, his head pillowed on the squashy armrest. He curled his legs up to his chest and breathed deeply; the blanket smelled like Dean, and swaddled as tightly as he was, he could almost pretend that Dean's arms were around him again. His eyes began to flutter, and he let out a sleepy yawn just as Dean entered the room. He looked down at the blanket, and Cas opened his mouth to apologize for snooping through the drawers, but Dean cut him off, whistling a tuneless note. "Man, you are one big burrito!" The man on the couch buried his face into the fabric in embarrassment as Dean stepped closer. Castiel would have sat up to make more room for the other man, but he was just so comfortable, and he felt the other end of the sofa dip regardless as Dean carefully settled into the cushions. Cas noted that he made sure to avoid contact, a generous move on his part.

"You can take a nap, if you want..." Dean's voice carried across the pocket of air separating them, and a mess of dark hair lifted up a fraction. "I slept last night, I shouldn't be tired," Cas answered indignantly, clearly upset with his body's betrayal. Slits of blue almost disappeared beneath drooping eyelids, and Castiel broke into another yawn that broke into a resentful grumble. Dean couldn't help the crinkling of his eyes, and he held back a laugh. "I'm pretty sure getting up before 5:00 cancels out any sleep you might have gotten. So, tell you what," He leaned over to the coffee table to pluck up a remote control. "I'm gonna put something on the TV. If you fall asleep, you fall asleep." Dean shrugged. "No skin off my nose." Cas was out before the movie started.

Castiel woke to the sounds of low-budget lazer guns and a soft pressure against his hip. He shifted, blinking the sleep out his eyes. A low sound rumbled out, and he froze. Peering over the bundle of blankets, he spotted Dean, fast asleep and curved lightly against his body, his face mashed into his thigh. He looked so innocent and boyish, that Cas' heart didn't tighten in fear at the closeness, nor did his skin feel suddenly overrun with ants. He simply looked down at the man for a long minute, wondering at what point Dean had tumbled over and begun to cuddle. Cas felt his scattered brain wind down, felt the line of questioning float away, until his thoughts were only a quiet humming in the background. He felt so warm and safe that he couldn't help slipping back into a dreamless sleep, a small smile on his face.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean roused with a snort. "Huh? Wazzit... Wasgoin' on?" He rubbed the sleep from his eyes blearily before registering the warm, solid form beneath his head. He turned his face without actually sitting up, frowning in confusion at the blanket below him. He prodded it experimentally, feeling hardness beneath the layers of fabric. Huh. That was weird. Wait, when had he fallen asleep on the on the couch? Slowly, he lifted his head, looking over the length of the sofa to see... oh, shit. Cas was awake, watching him with something akin to curiosity glimmering in his eyes, as if waiting to see how Dean would proceed. 

Still lazy with sleep, Dean's brain chugged along slowly as he stared at Cas, then down at his makeshift pillow, and...

"Oh, fuck... I - I'm so sorry Cas, you should've pushed me off..." He shoved himself up off of what he now recognized as the other guy's body and scooted back to the far end of the couch. "I didn't mean to invade your space, man, seriously, feel free to just... kick me off next time, no worries..."

"Dean." Shamefaced, he forced himself to meet that piercing gaze. Castiel had shuffled into a sitting position, his hair somehow even messier than before and his face pink with fading drowsiness. "You fell asleep, the same as me. I appreciate the concern, really, I do," Cas scooted forward and tentatively placed a hand on Dean's forearm. "And if you do something that makes me uncomfortable, I'll let you know. Or you'll figure it out before I even tell you, and give me some space, you're surprisingly good at that."

"Not good enough." Dean grumbled.

"Hey." Castiel's hand tightened. "I get that you're a decent human being, and that you want to keep that up. Trust me, I'm all for that. But you need to understand that I'm an adult, and I'm capable of making some decisions for myself, too. I don't feel threatened by you right now, nor do I think I should have a reason to be, so would you please quit wringing your hands over this? You fell asleep, I was in the way, end of story."

"Not in the way..." Dean huffed under his breath. At Castiel's stern look, he threw his hands up in the air. "Okay, okay! Moving past it. Still sorry, though." Cas opened his mouth in preparation for a rebuttal, but Dean had already hoisted himself up, skin flushed from the mingled heat of their bodies.

"What time is - shit, Cas, it's 3:00! Fuck, I completely forgot..." 

"Why is... is something wrong?" He drew his lip between his teeth nervously.

Dean didn't answer, only dashed to the phone to listen to his messages. He breathed a sigh of relief as Charlie's voice chirped through the receiver, happily informing him of the canceled golf meeting with his client. Next was a message from Dad, a gruff invitation to dinner in the near future. "And pick up the phone and call every decade or so, ya idgit!" He set the phone back down. "Sorry 'bout that, Cas. I kind of forgot that I was supposed to meet a client for golf this morning; he canceled, though, so it's no big deal."

"A client?" Castiel trundled forward, still cocooned in the woolen blanket, concern etched in the lines of his face. "I didn't... you wouldn't lose a client because of me, would you?"

"I said he canceled, didn't I? With good reason, too." Dean waved at the window where the rain had slowed to a drizzle, but the clouds still lurked darkly overhead. And I'm damn glad he did, I'd much rather chill here with you than schmooze up to that - fuckin' slimy senator," He groused irritably.

"You said your client is a senator? Local?" An angry little furrow creased between Castiel's eyebrows.

"Um, yeah? Name's Hendrickson... shit, Cas, you okay?"

Dean moved cautiously to where the other man had somehow withdrawn deeper into the blanket and dumped himself into the nearest kitchen chair. "Hey, hey, hey, Cas... come on, did I say something?" He knelt down at Castiel's feet and tried to catch his eye from beneath the layers of fabric. "Whatever I said, I'm sorry... just tell me - what did I do, man?" His hands fluttered uncertainly, desperately itching to soothe, but somehow he felt his touch would be unwelcome at the moment.

Cas raised his head, his eyes wet. "He was one of my clients too." He snorted coldly before tearing his gaze away. "If that's what you want to call it."

Dean's heart dropped into his stomach. "Cas," His voice was a cracked whisper, his arms hovering in front of him in an aborted movement. The other man refused to look at him. "Cas, please look at me..." With a great visible effort, blue eyes slowly and reluctantly met green. 

"Why?" The word was a harsh growl. "You think you'll still like what you see? I'm broken, Dean. Other people have used me," he snarled viciously. "I'm dirty, I'm - " suddenly, he seemed to crumple in on himself, and that seething anger gave way to tears. "I'm not good," he sobbed from underneath his hands.

"Not good?" Dean murmured incredulously. "Not good? Cas, I may not have known you for long, but I can read people, and I can say with absolute certainty... You're good, Castiel. You're so good." He clutched the legs of the chair, trying to stop himself from reaching out and wiping the tear tracks away; touch was likely the last thing Cas could want right now. 

Oh. A trembling hand crept out from the twists of wool and settled on Dean's shoulder, pale fingers clutching the worn fabric desperately. Dean didn't move, frozen on the balls of his feet, and let the other man clasp him so tightly he felt a bruise forming. A few minutes passed, until Dean felt shoots of pain cramping in his calves and Cas' shudders had gentled. "I think -" hitched breathing. "If you wouldn't mind... Could you please... " The hand tightened, silently iterating the desire. Dean's breath left him in a rush. "Yeah, of course I can. Whatever you need." He moved slowly, waiting until Cas lifted his face to read the intent in his eyes, make sure that he understood him correctly, before beckoning him to sit beside him on the floor. Bloodshot eyes that leaked embarrassment regarded him hesitantly, before the shifting mass of fabric slid off the chair and into Dean's lap. 

Dean stiffened momentarily, taken aback at the sudden closeness. The man in his lap eased his arms up and over Dean's shoulders, lightly pressing their chests together. Dean reciprocated the touch gently, bringing one hand up to lightly cup the back of Castiel's neck, and rubbing soothing circles into his back with the other. He felt a warm, approving huff of breath against his skin, where Cas had nestled his face into the divot of his collarbone. Dean's thumb began idly stroking through the tuft of dark hair curling at the nape of his neck, and Castiel hummed contentedly, squeezing Dean to himself a little tighter. Any remaining tension slowly bled from Cas' body, leaving him loose-limbed and heavy with catharsis. His breathing slowed and evened out, and his eyelashes began to flutter delicately against the skin at Dean's throat. Dean kept running his fingertips lightly over the muscles of his back, his shoulders, his neck... his touch, which had before been threatening, appeared to inspire only a calmness in the man now. Dean waited until he was sure the other man had nodded off before carefully standing up, holding Cas against him so he didn't fall. Castiel grumbled sleepily, tucking his legs up to wrap around Dean's waist. The corners of Dean's mouth twitched. Cas was kind of a koala when he was tired. 

Stepping cautiously through the kitchen, Dean cradled the warm body close to himself as he made his way to the guest room, and laid the man on the bed. It took some effort, but he eventually managed to pry himself out of Castiel's death grip, quickly replacing the emptiness with a large, fluffy pillow, and re-tucking the blankets around him. After a moment's thought, he left the room only to quickly return with a glass of water, which he set down on the small nightstand next to the bed. His stomach rumbled insistently, and he vaguely realized that he hadn't eaten since breakfast. Dean granted himself one last look at the man as he slept - he looked so different when his defenses were down. He was curled up in a ball, his eyes squeezed shut, his pale pink lips quivering slightly with each measured exhalation... the man was beautiful. Dean's heart seized, not unpleasantly, and he forced himself back down the hall.

Minutes later, Dean was rummaging through cupboards and the fruit bowl, grinning in triumph as he arranged the ingredients on the counter. He let himself float as he peeled and sliced a pile of apples, and rolled out two buttery circles of dough. He hummed as he piled a mountain of cinnamon-scented fruit into a dough-lined pan and covered the top, shredded the sharp cheddar into the crust, and fluted the edges. Once the pie was in the oven, he set his attentions on dinner. What would Cas like? Burgers were a hit... something with meat, then. He found the large hunk of beef that he'd bought the previous week, before Jo had canceled dinner on him when the bar scheduled her for an extra shift. Soon enough, he swapped out the bubbling dessert for a seasoned and dressed pot roast, nestled on a bed of potatoes and carrots and wrapped in foil. He checked the time. 5:30. Plenty of time to cook the meat low and slow.

He washed and broke apart a head of broccoli, and set it aside to be steamed later. He glanced at his watch. 5:40. A quick peek down the hall confirmed that Cas was still sleeping off his earlier emotional explosion. Dean sat rigidly and drummed his fingers on the table impatiently. What now? He'd gotten to bizarrely used to having Castiel around that without him, he was feeling kind of antsy. A thought occurred to him. Ice cream! What was pie without ice cream? And... shit... did he even have any? He rifled through the freezer. No such luck. But then again, maybe he could burn off some of this nervous energy - a quick drive to the supermarket should do the trick, right? Pulling on a pair of jeans and toeing into his shoes, he scribbled a note to Cas before creeping into the guest room and propping the card up against the water glass.

CAS -

WENT TO THE GROCERY STORE, BE BACK SOON.

\- DEAN

He noticed with a smile that the guy had at some point flopped over on to his stomach, and his face was squashed up against the mattress, a bit of drool starting to pool at the corner of his mouth. He was also clutching the throw pillow that Dean had replaced himself with against his body with a fierce grip. Dean started as Cas sighed softly, and nuzzled further into the pillow. This was creepy. He should be able to let the poor guy sleep without having to wake up to Dean all up in his face.  
Dean was already out the door when Cas snuggled further into the pillow and breathed, "Dean,"

* * * * * *

The drive should have helped. Dean inhaled deeply as the fresh air rolled through the open windows in waves, but the clean scent only sharpened his memory of Cas after he'd had his shower. "Come on, man, keep it together," he shook his head, trying and failing to clear it of everything that was Castiel. He tried focusing on the steadily deepening blue of the sky, but that only brought up images of a certain someone's eyes. His stomach rumbled again. Hungry, yeah, think about food. Food is safe. Dean groaned as his mind cheerfully replayed loops of Cas and that burger last night. Not even just the unintentional eroticism the guy somehow brought to eating, but the way his face lit up when Dean set down his plate, the way he leaned back in the chair and rested his hands on his stomach when he was done... Fuck. Dean was officially screwed.

He parked the car, grabbed the ice cream, and braced himself to go back upstairs. 

What he found when he opened the door was surprising. One, Cas was awake. Two, he was crouched to eye-level with the pie, and Three, he didn't jump when Dean entered the room. "Hey, man." Dean chuckled.

"This smells incredible." Cas waved over at the pie. He looked up at Dean, impressed. "And you made it yourself?"

"Of course!" Dean snuck behind Cas to store the ice cream in the freezer. "It's the only way to do it. No grocery store does it as good as this."

"I believe it." Castiel was looking down at his hands. "Look, Dean, about earlier... I'm sorry I - I lost it a bit." He swirled his finger around his temple and tried to grin, but it came out more like a grimace. "I appreciate every - I mean, I wouldn't want to be around myself when I get like that, and it - it must have come out of nowhere..."

"Cas, speaking from the heart? I'm glad I was here. And I'm real fuckin' sorry that I brought all that on, if I'd known..."

"But you couldn't have known," Castiel cut in smoothly. "And the way you just... I don't ask for people to touch me. Ever. They just... do. I mean, that's what they pay for, right?" He twiddled his fingers. "Wouldn't do for me to run away every time a john expects to touch a whore."

"Hey, none of that, Cas. I mean it." Dean's voice was firm. "Now, I don't blame you, or - or judge you for doing what you had to do. Got it?" The other man bobbed his head in agreement. "And nobody has any right to touch you, in any way, unless you've made it abundantly clear that you want it too. You're not a whore, alright? Not that there's anything wrong with that..." He hid his face in his hands. "Shit, this is coming out all wrong... What I mean is, you're more than what your circumstances have demanded of you. Okay? That's all I meant." Castiel looked confused more than anything. "Thank you, Dean. That... means a lot." His voice cracked with undisguised emotion.

"I'm glad. And it's true, every word of it. Now, may I please hug you? It's okay to say no." Dean didn't want to assume anything, even after this afternoon. 

"I..." Cas cocked his head, considering, and a small smile tugged at his lips. "Yes, please."

"Cleared for landing...." Dean ducked in to weave his arms around the other man, grinning when he felt Cas' body rumble with amused laughter. He squeezed the Castiel briefly, before letting him go and reaching out for a handshake. "That was a high-quality hug. I thank you." He bowed slightly over their clasped hands, resisting the urge to brush his lips against Cas' fingers. He looked up to meet the other man's eyes, his heart melting when he saw how much lighter his face appeared. "So, I hope you don't mind," Dean straightened. "That I took the liberty of throwing together some dinner. If you'll stay and join me?" It wasn't a test, but Dean was curious how Castiel would respond to the clear escape he was offering.

"I'll set the table."

Dean's heart soared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday; another chapter! I promise, this is slowly moving in a happier direction; for the first few chapters, though, I felt it would make more sense to ease into the pining, especially considering Cas' difficult past. I don't want to rush things (obviously, as it's only been 24 hours in this fic, and we're on chapter five,) so I really appreciate your patience. Thank you for reading, and I'll try to get another chapter up within the next week. Hope you're all enjoying it!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, so this chapter has Cas coming to some interesting revelations regarding his feelings for Dean. There is a shower scene *wink wink*, so if solo phallic descriptions aren't your thing, feel free to skip this chapter. I'm updating the tags as I go, and though now I rate this as Mature, I think it's definitely going to (eventually) go into NC-17 territory. Fair warning! All that said, I hope you like the new chapter. :) (Also, this is my first attempt at writing anything vaguely porny, so apologies if my inexperience is glaringly obvious)

"I think I might have finally met my match," Dean chuckled, scraping his fork against the plate for elusive crumbs.

"What do you mean?" Cas asked as he shoveled another bite into his mouth, closing his eyes appreciatively. 

"Pie, dude. I don't think I've ever known someone who loses it over pie as much as I do." He smiled as the other man stared thoughtfully down at his empty plate; he looked about ten seconds away from licking it clean. "Can I get you another piece?" Cas' head snapped up, and he nodded eagerly. "Yes, please." He set his plate delicately in Dean's outstretched hand.

"I usually don't... "lose it" over sweets quite this much. But then again, I've only ever had pre-made pie before, so this..." He waved over to where Dean was hefting a mammoth slice out of the tin. "This is a revelation." 

Castiel noted with approval the flush tinting Dean's cheeks as he set the treat down in front of him. "Thank you," He murmured earnestly before digging in with a happy sigh.

"Nah, man, thank you... going in for seconds? That's like, the best compliment you could give me." 

"It's a compliment I'm happy to give, anytime." He moaned around another mouthful. Dean propped his elbow up on the table, resting his face in his hand. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Castiel, who seemed to radiate his emotions - it was addictive. He felt like he could get drunk off of the waves of contentment rolling from the other man, and he'd have forgotten he was staring if Cas didn't flick his focus away from eating every now and then to catch Dean's eye, before blushing and looking down again.

Adorable. The man was adorable. Dean couldn't help the smile that came across his face, and it didn't escape Cas' notice. "Whaght?" He mumbled through a mouthful of pie, before swallowing tremendously and patting at his cheeks. "Did I get some on my face?" Dean shook his head, trying (and failing) to regulate the thrumming of his pulse. "Nope. You're good." He stood up, breaking the heaviness that was threatening to settle between them. "I'm just gonna... dishes." He cleared the table and filled the sink with hot, sudsy water. He let the heat soak into his skin, and relaxed easily into the chore, falling into a rhythm of scrubbing, rinsing, and stacking in the drying rack. Dean didn't even notice when the rack started to empty, until a plate was gently tugged from his hand. He looked up in surprise as Cas methodically dried the dish, placed it the cupboard above his head, and turned back to Dean. "Is that it?" He asked.

"Huh?" 

"Was that the last dish?" Castiel dried his hands on the towel before offering it to Dean.

"Oh, uh - yeah. Thanks for helping out, Cas." God, this whole situation felt so domestic; cooking together, cleaning, unintentional snuggling, emotional breakdowns... But it wasn't oppressive. It felt nice.

"It's my pleasure, Dean." The man smiled briefly before shifting his gaze to the clock hesitantly. "I was wondering, though, when I could... expect to be leaving?" He refused to meet Dean's eye.

"Do you want to leave, Cas?" No no no, please say no...

The man opened his mouth to respond, but after a moment shut it and shook his head.

"Well, then. I guess that's that." Dean didn't realize he'd come to a decision until he was already talking. "Listen, just - hear me out for a second. So, you know I have the spare bedroom, and I don't like hanging out in an empty apartment, and... well, what would you say to crashing here for a while? I don't exactly need a roommate, but I think I'd like one, if you were interested,"

"Roommates pay rent, Dean. You know I can't afford this place." Cas picked at the fringe on the dish towel.

"I know," Dean shrugged. "But I'm sure I could help you find a job, if that's something you'd want. Then, I dunno, chip in when you can, I guess."

"No place would hire me." His voice was tentative, but he didn't sound outright opposed to the idea. Dean pushed on. "Not without a resume and a good interview outfit. We can take care of the clothes ourselves, " Dean was getting excited now, flipping through his planner. "But I trust my secretary Charlie to bang out a top-notch resume and cover letter for you, if you can just give her some basic information. I can bring you to meet with her on..." flip flip flip. "Monday morning, and that night I'll take you shopping." The pen was already scratching along the paper before Dean stopped himself. "Sorry," he grinned sheepishly. "I'm getting a little carried away. Are you free on Monday, or would sometime else work better for you?" Cas raised an eyebrow. What else could he possibly have to do? "Okay, okay, point taken," Dean chuckled and finished filling in the dates. "So," He set the planner aside. "Once we get you into tip-top shape for interviewing, what, uh, what sort of job do you think you'd want?"

That familiar little crease formed between Castiel's eyebrows. "I don't know... The last job I had was at a Gas N' Sip. I - got fired when they found out I was sleeping in the locker room overnight." He huffed. "It was too bad. I didn't mind the work, surprisingly, even though I was just a sales associate. There was a... dignity in what I did." His face cleared, and he smiled at Dean. "I'm not too proud for any job, Dean. I'd just prefer to leave my most recent work behind me."

Dean nodded firmly. "You will. We're gonna find something that's a good fit for you, but you've gotta give me something to go on. You like working with people, alone, inside, outside, physical work or something at a desk? Any of this appealing to you?"

Cas frowned thoughtfully. "I think... outside would be nice. I rather enjoy nature."

"Great!" Dean let his hand float to the other man's shoulder, where he gave a quick squeeze of encouragement. "That's an awesome start. I'm sure Charlie can work with that, find you something nice."

Castiel looked overwhelmed. "This is... a lot to take in at once. May I take a shower? I think I need to organize my thoughts."

"Hey, man," Dean grinned. "The place is yours as much as mine, now. Do with it what you will." He gestured grandly. Cas threw him a skeptical look before heading to the bathroom and shutting the door.

* * * * * *

Steam filled the bathroom. Castiel stood under the showerhead, hands braced on the wall as hot water trailed in frantic rivulets down his skin. He had assumed the heat would relax him, allow him to think clearly about this whirlwind of events. Event number one: incredibly attractive man invites him up to his apartment for dinner. Event number two: he spills his personal sob story to Dean (still technically a stranger). Event number three: Dean insists he stay overnight, but not for anything unsavory - out of concern. Concern for him.

Cas ran a hand through his dripping hair. Focus. Event number four: he has a meltdown and falls asleep, crying on Dean. Dean puts him to bed and makes him dinner. Event number five: Dean asks him to live with him, and says he'll set up job interviews. 

He sank to the bottom of the tub below the spray, confused. It just didn't make sense. What could Dean possibly have to gain from living with him? Cas didn't have anything, save for a boatload of personal issues and an aversion to people. Dean was... well, besides the obvious physical appeal, astonishingly decent, better than decent as far as humans go. Not to mention, Cas thought as he lathered sandlewood-scented soap across his chest, that Dean hadn't taken advantage in any way when he'd been drunk or asleep. He suspected Dean was interested in some capacity, could sense it in the way his eyes lingered on his face when he thought Castiel couldn't see, in the way his face heated up when Cas complimented his cooking.

The thought sent a shiver through him, despite the almost oppressive heat swirling lazily around him. Cas curled into himself, shifting so that not a bit of skin escaped the water while he considered his situation. Was that okay, Dean looking? What if he saw something he didn't like? But then, Castiel reasoned, he'd already seen the worst, and he wasn't running for the hills. 

Suds gathered at his toes, lapping in little waves like sea foam. The scent of Dean's soap swirled around him, and he sighed, momentarily soothed. Forcefully shoving away his concerns, Cas reached for Dean's shampoo and worked a dollop through his hair, tugging when he reached a particularly stubborn tangle. The sharp jolts through his scalp zinged down to somewhere... unexpected. Peering through half-closed eyes, he looked down confusedly where his penis, usually limp and uninterested, began to swell with arousal. Experimentally, Cas yanked on a fistful of hair and yelped, falling backwards in shock when his mind flooded with images of Dean and his cock thickened further with a spastic twitch.

Biting into his knuckle, he stared down in disbelief. What does one do in this situation? He understood the mechanics of masturbation just fine, but in Dean's shower? With Dean somewhere on the other side of the door? He moaned into his fist at the thought... touching himself using Dean's soap to make the slide easy, Dean jacking himself on the other side of the door while he listened... no. He purposefully fisted his hands at his sides, as far away from his traitorous dick as possible. Perhaps without any stimulation, his erection would flag. He certainly couldn't go back out and face Dean in this state, and so settled instead for staring down his flushed cock with a glare, willing it to subside, unsuccessfully.

Water curled sensuously along the throbbing length of him, sluicing down the tender skin of his balls and dribbling down his perineum. His back arched almost painfully from where he now lay on the floor of the tub, and he clasped a stifling hand over his mouth, breath puffing harshly from his nose. It didn't help to close his eyes; it made it far too easy to replace the trickles of water with Dean's teasing, ghosting fingers.  
Castiel's eyes shot open with a muffled gasp. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this hard. He certainly had never enjoyed any of his encounters with the johns, who seemed to prefer to fuck him hard and fast, emptying themselves into the condom within minutes of pushing in. But Dean... he clenched his teeth, forcing the sounds to stay buried in his chest as he reluctantly traced a shaking hand down his ribs, resting his fingertips just shy of his leaking cock. If he did this, it had to be done quickly and quietly.

Steeling himself, Castiel wrapped his long fingers around himself and instantly keened at the sensation. All the sex he'd ever had, nothing could measure up to this, not with the images of Dean his brain was so helpfully supplying. Unable to stop, Cas began tugging at the velvety skin, his toes curling with each pass over the swollen head. Keep quiet, keep quiet... Oh, but he needed more, it wasn't enough...

Frantically, Castiel reached for the shower gel, and squeezed a bit into his hand. He returned to stroking his dick, failing to completely hold in the throaty whine when his senses were overwhelmed with the slick slide of his fist and oh, the smell of Dean leeching into everything... His legs were splayed out on the floor, trembling in surprise when his thumb pressed into the sensitive frenulum, and oh, yes, everything was drawing up tight, so close, so close, just need - 

"Cas?" A knock at the door. "You alright in there?" Castiel's whole body tensed, his mouth open wide in a silent scream as seemingly endless ropes of come shot from his cock and landed on his chest. He lay there, panting and vibrating with the aftershocks of his orgasm, only startling back to attention at another insistent knock. "Cas?" Dean sounded more frantic. "Everything okay?"

"Sorry, Dean," Cas was impressed at the steadiness of his voice as the shower washed away the evidence of his activities. "I couldn't hear you over the water. I'll be out in just a minute."

"No hurry, man, just... you've been in there a while, wanted to check..." Dean's voice trailed off uncertainly, before sounding again. "I brought you some more clothes, too, they're just out here whenever, y'know,"

"Thank you, Dean." Cas distantly heard footsteps moving away over the rush of blood pumping through him. He indulged himself a minute more in the shower, then forced himself to stand on weak legs and turn off the water. Immediately, he was wracked with shivers. So much for post-orgasmic bliss.

He lunged for the towel hanging on the rack, and briskly began rubbing himself down, paying delicate attention to his now oversensitive dick. He peeked out the door for any sign of Dean before reaching out and snagging the pile of clothes, which he wriggled into impatiently. He caught sight of himself in the mirror, eyes slightly glazed over, cheeks pinker than usual. He slapped himself lightly. "Look alive, don't be weird... He doesn't know you just jerked off with his soap and came when you heard his voice." He looked down at his clothes for the first time... shit. Another pair of Dean's boxers, and another of his T-shirts. His head grew foggy when he pressed his face into the fabric, inhaling deeply before pulling away. This was uncharted territory; he didn't know how to navigate. But staying behind a locked door wasn't going to improve anything, that much was certain.

With great effort, Castiel tore himself away from the mirror and opened the door. 

Good roommates don't hog the bathroom.


End file.
